


The Memoirs of an Archangel - or: How Michael was forced to live on Earth and learned her lesson

by call_me_lenora



Series: The Luxury of Doubt [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels on earth, Archangel Trope, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hastur is Ezekeel, Hastur is overwhelmed, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Warriors (Good Omens), M/M, Make Love Not War, Michael doesn't know how to human, Other, Prequel, The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), before and after Armageddon't, genderfluidity/genderambiguity, love is love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2020-11-08 06:23:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20830844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/call_me_lenora/pseuds/call_me_lenora
Summary: Archangel Michael was a warrior, strong-minded and strong-willed, his sword in hand as he swung through the demons with grace, beheading one or two along the way and pushing those off the edge of Heaven that dared to speak up against Her law. He watched them fall one by one, before he turned his back on the traitors and returned to his mother, kneeling down before her.It didn't lie in his nature to be a killer, for he was loving and caring towards those that were dear to him, but his decision to stay by his mother's side was stronger than his wish to stay with those he had formerly called 'friends'.So, he remained, and so he was bound to Heaven, as the humans' strongest guardian, aiding those who called for his assistance - day in, day out.More than 6000 years later, his mother called out to him and made him an offer. "You want me to choose a body?" - "I want you to choose your mortal form, for the moment you arrive on Earth." His deep-blue eyes looked for ideas, found none. "Ah, nevermind, I'll look into your heart then." Before he could mutter any protest, God's choice had been made. She found a memory - and what he became was the woman we all came to see...





	1. At the Edge of the World

**Author's Note:**

> Hey :D  
This little collection of stories (that will hopefully have some form of coherence) is based on an idea I had during a written rp with a good friend of mine. I grew fond of playing Archangel Michael and since they are very limitedly described in the book and the series, I wanted to have a look at their point of view and explore what would happen to them, once they were forced to stay on the 'surface' for more than a week. 
> 
> I am using she/her and he/him pronouns to describe their appearance depending on the scene, which means that I will describe Michael as she whenever they turn up in their female form, and he/him when I refer to the more masculine, angelic side (since most of Michael's depiction in traditional art is male). Generally, I see the demons and angels of Good Omens as genderless, with preferences concerning presenting themselves, since Crowley and Aziraphale for example are seen as mostly male, Gabriel as male, Uriel as female, etc. My use of pronouns here is more for clarification of who is talking to whom than anything else.
> 
> I hope you enjoy :3

Slender fingers held little ones tightly. She stepped towards the edge with her and looked up to the heavens. Their feet stopped close to the sea, right at the edge of the coast. The little one's favourite place.  
Against her warmth, the child's skin felt cold and dry, pale pink against glowingly tanned. They watched the morning fall into the stormy dawn, when a soft voice cut their silence with the loveliest purity.  
"Will they be nice up there?"  
She narrowed her eyes, thinking, then, she nodded.  
"I am sure they will."  


While her blue eyes captured the sudden bursts of light in the skies above them, her fingers grabbed the little one's even tighter, hoping the girl wouldn't fall off, before their appointment would arrive.  
"How are they up there?"  
"Reserved, a little bit arrogant, but mostly friendly," she replied, giving her a little smile.  
"They are arrogant?" She chuckled.  
"Yes. Most of them... but if you tell them to go away, they will. And if you tell them that you need anything, they will grant whatever wish you have."  
The girl looked up, watching her every move closely as if she was trying to find out what was going on in her mind.  
"Why are they only pretending, Michael?"  
She hesitated, sighing softly.  
"Because we were not made to be just...nice, my dear." Her lips curled into a smile. "Angels were made to protect and to save. To be yours and yours only, and still, just God's and God's only."  
"Mommy said, angels are the nicest people of all. And that we would become one of them in heaven when we die."  
She shook her head.  
"No...Humans don't become angels. She must have lied to you then."  
"My mom would never lie to me."  
Michael, seemingly surprised, looked down and squeezed her hand just so slightly. "Then, she didn't know better."  


Silence fell upon them like a blanket, and they merely watched the waves brush the shore, the seagulls float in the air, the green grass sway in the wind, while the sun started rising from the clouds that hid it before.  
Warm rays of sunshine illumined their faces, and Michael closed her eyes, savouring its familiar warmth on her skin. The little girl sighed and leant against her leg, hugging it. Dozing off, she lost the grip of Michael's hand, and started to grab her upper thigh instead.  
"Hey..."  


Her protest, as soft as it was, remained unheard. Michael soon noticed that the small blonde person next to her had already fallen asleep. Her blonde pig tails fell onto her shoulders. One even fell into her face, covering her button nose from Michael's gaze.  
She looked peaceful, with her arms around her leg, pressing her face against the fabric of Michael's suit. Too bad she would be gone soon.

"She fell asleep?"

The clouds parted, and in God's light, wings could be seen, six in total, while a crown of feathers adorned his scalp like a crown. Glowing green eyes, shining like emeralds, sparkled down to them, as Raphael, maybe the most adored Angel in all of their realms, came down to Earth to fulfil the task that he was given.  
"Michael."  
He bowed deeply, watching his friend of better times closely, as he noticed her little companion clasping her knee.  
"Oh... It is...not her, is it?"  
"I'm afraid it is."  
Raphael set foot on the ground before them, knelt down and softly brushed the little girl's pig tail aside to see her face.  
"Why?"  
"Leukemia," Michael whispered, as she lay her hand on the child's back. "She couldn't make it."  
In disbelief, Raphael hesitated to remove his gaze from her, before he stood up straight, looking up to Michael.  
"There must be a way to save her."  
The guardian shook her head.  
"You know the rules as well as I do, Raphael. If She wants her to return home, we have to bring her back. It is not our right to choose." 

Again, they looked down at the school girl in Michael's care, both feeling the agony, a knowing tranquility in their silence, when Raphael reached out to the child and softly plucked her away from Michael's leg.  
"Take care of her, will you?"  
It was more an order than a request.  
"Always."  
Raphael took her onto his arms, kissed the girl's forehead and pushed himself up into the air.  
Absentmindedly, Michael watched them soar up to the skies, slowly vanishing in the lights of their one and only home. A place that she had missed for such a long time.  
"Until we meet again," Raphael spoke before his sun disappeared behind the clouds. 

It was about to rain, and Michael refused to let the wet ruin her hair. Even though she knew she could miracle moisture away if need be, she preferred to keep her hair dry, since the sensation of wet streaks alone was unpleasant enough to avoid it. As long as she had been on the surface of the World, she had only endured seven days of rain - and she wanted to keep it at that.  
Angels were not meant to be on Earth, she reckoned. Ethereal beings among those of God's breath and clay. Especially clay. But who was she to judge? At least she had her looks to focus and work on, as long as she waited for permission to return to where she came from. Moving in a mortal urn carrying her soul until the end of days - but why was she forced to stay among those who prayed to her before Armageddon took its toll? Why wasn't she allowed to remain in the heavens, so that she could be training those who would fight by her side when doomsday would come?  
It was all in Her ineffable plan. Her Great Plan, the Greatest of all - and Michael had to sit and watch while everything they've worked for, for several millennia, fell apart.


	2. Lesson 1: An Unexpected Saviour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Michael handed over the little girl's soul, she returns to London, and, finally finding a place to rest, tries to calm down.  
She didn't expect someone to disturb her - and even less who was waiting at the other side of the hallway, watching her just too closely...

Night time arrived, and with it, the whispers of shadows all around. A long lavender coat embraced her shoulders, clinging to her like a second skin. Its belt closed in around her waist, her delicate feet were hidden behind thick brown leather. The clickety-clack of her heels echoed through the streets and lost itself inbetween the window panes of families going to sleep. From afar, she heard people arguing. Some of the voices filled with love and desperation, others with anger, panic and rage. She knew how much she was used to those sounds already, and still, she couldn't stand them. The imperfection of humanity... Her mother's children, younger than her and soft to the touch, warm when alive, cold when they died, and still, they didn't know better but to spend their time taking the only peace and harmony they could have in their small, insignificant lives.  
Sometimes, she wondered if she had made the right choice, back when Eden was still a vision, not a place. Was saving them worth the effort? 

For years, she had now been in close contact to the creatures _downstairs_. Demons, monsters, shadows alike. Although she detested them with a passion as embedded as an evening song, she had dared to listen to their voices when they met. Listened to their sorrows, their hatred; something that made them so similar to the people living on her mother's creation -  
And she knew, as much as she wanted to deny it, that there was truth behind their complaints. Often, she heard them moan about being left behind. About their friends and siblings pushing them into eternal darkness. If she was completely honest with herself, she knew exactly what it felt like... The Fall.

Hellfire... the greatest punishment of all - tearing flesh from bones, melting skin from limbs, burning love from pride and kindness from anger. As bits and pieces of her past popped up in her mind, she felt something, deep in her heart. A face formed in front of her inner eye... A smile as pure and loving as a child's, even though the angel it belonged to was very mature indeed. His gestures and warm, raspy voice remained unique, even after all these years. The memory of his feet dangling from the edge of the clouds, his eyes as light as day that changed when the sun set.  
She smiled softly, as the joy she felt flooded her heart. Ezekeel...  
Every time that the night had arrived, his eyes had glistened like the sky around them. Stars had sparkled in his irises, midnight blue had flooded his mirrors like tidal waves. Michael remembered losing himself in them. Ezekeel was the Creator of the weather on Earth... Magnificent in his craft, he knew exactly what their humans needed. A kind-hearted, loving angel, whose only wish had been to experience the love himself that once had been the reason angels had been created. Michael's heart stopped thinking about it. Dear Ezekeel... -  


She closed her eyes, before she took a deep breath and looked down at her hands. Tiny lines of golden light... She was not supposed to think of them. Her true form, as rarely as she moved around in it nowadays, was different. _They_ wouldn't notice her, or rather him, immediately, for humans were unable to see more than male and female. Ethereal, as ambivalent as their existence was, was far beyond their tiny minds... Still, she shoved her hands into her pockets and quickened her pace.  
In a hotel, she got herself a room and took the lift upstairs to find some rest. One day, she knew that she would find him. Somewhere out there, even if it meant that she might lose a part of herself. 

PING!

The door opened at her floor, and a man walked by, scanning her. Apparently he was feeling something inbetween amusement and attraction - she could read it in his face, especially the eyes wandering from hers down to her feet, stopping at her ankles and lastly, on her skirt. Her blue eyes pierced through him before he could say anything.

"G'd evening", he mumbled, still looking, before he walked on, and suddenly turned on his heel, seemingly up for a chat. Michael took a deep breath, trying not to roll her eyes, when he started hitting on her. Cigarette smoke and alcohol lay in his breath, and she swore this man hadn't been taking care of his dental hygiene in a while.  
"'s rare to see a lass like you walk around at this time o' day..." He leant in, his mouth only inches away from hers, before she firmly pressed her hand against his chest.  
"I believe it is time for you to go to bed, Sir."  


He giggled, watching her hand closely, before he leant in even more. "Oh~..You're a feisty one. I will tame you, no problem -"  


Another lift stopped, and with it, the familiar noise of scuffing feet came closer. While her fingers grabbed the man's collar, the scuffing got louder and louder - she knew this was no man, nor another earthly creature. No angel either. She couldn't see past the stranger that now tried to grasp her upper thigh and leant in to kiss her neck, but she knew that, if this idiot would not leave, something far worse would happen to him, than just a kick to his crotch or her disappearing. "Listen to me, you little -"  


With a strength unusual for her tender appearance, she pressed him up, lifting him so far, he could barely keep his feet on the ground. The drunkard panicked, wrapping his fingers around her wrists and held on for dear life.   
"No woman on this planet is an object for you to claim. Am I clear?"  
He nodded, hastily, his voice trembling with fear, as he struggled to escape.   
"Y-yes...yes, Madam! Please...let me go." Michael didn't know that her eyes had started glowing - a side effect of her true nature that sometimes escaped her when she wandered on Earth for too long.  
"Swear on your life, as long as I am willing to forgive you"   
"I do, oh God, please, I do!"

"He's lying."

She froze. A tiny maggot crawled down a strand of the stranger's hair, before it dropped onto her collar. "No..."  
Trying to find the source, she watched the man in her grip, when another maggot fell onto her suit, struggled to hold on and landed on the carpet before her feet. Slowly, it was daunting on her.  
"No, no, no..." She felt her hands trembling as she held the sinner as far away from her as possible.  
"STOP IT."  
There was nothing she could do, but watch, as floods of maggots silenced the screaming, quivering remains of the man, she was still holding as if her life depended on it. His vocal chords, that spasmed beneath the pressure, were silenced the moment that more and more tiny beasts filled his mouth. They poured out of him, when his eyes filled with tears and in less than a few moments, his body was nothing more than a bag of maggot-filled skin in a suit. In shock, Michael dropped him, tumbled against the wall and pressed herself against it.  
The laughter bellowing through the hall finally succeeded to gain her attention. While the maggots ate away the suit and tie, they slowly vanished in hellish flames. This could only be _his_ doing.

"Hastur..."

"Michael." Their eyes met shortly, before Michael rearranged her hair and costume. Harshly, she snapped a maggot off her lavender coat and met his gaze. Pitch-black... as if every light was lost in his presence.  
"Deserved it. Had'im on our list for a while."   
He snorted, before he stopped before her, hands shoved into the pockets of his trenchcoat. Michael didn't know if the stranger's breath or Hastur's body odour was worse, but she certainly didn't like either one of them. If she was completely honest with herself, she would have done best if she just left and hit the hay. What good would come from talking to a demon?  
"Oh, you really are your arrogant ol' self, aren't ya? Not even responding to me. How did it work out for ya, stay'n on Earth, huh? - Being harassed the first night you're out alone?" he mocked her, black storms watching uncut ice. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, avoiding his gaze.  
"I believe that is none of your business, Hastur. Now, if you excuse me, I'd really like some rest." 

She turned away, strutting towards the door, as he promptly appeared next to her and slammed his hand against the wall, right in front of her face. Her heart beat fast, unease spreading like poison, as she felt his smile exposing his yellow teeth.  
"D'you really think I come save you and would leave without payment?"  
"I owe you nothing. If you didn't notice, I could've handled it myself."  
"Well, didn' look like it, duckface." Silently, she drew in her breath through her teeth, before pushing his arm back and storming towards her room. Pulling out her key, she opened it, rushed in and hung up her coat, before she slammed the door shut. Just a second too late as she noticed afterwards, feeling his presence behind her back.  


"Too slow."  


Raising her hand, she turned, as his hands clasped tightly around her wrists, pressing her against the wall of her apartment, monitoring her every move. As his eyes met hers, he recognised the intensity, the light crawling into them, and stopped. Hours seemed to pass between them, and he just watched. Michael didn't know if it was disgust or longing in his gaze, but he suddenly let go and spit onto the ground before her feet.  
"I will return once I have a task for you. Be ready for it, Michael. You owe me one."

With that, he opened the door, gave her one last look and left her alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Hastur is here. I am quite excited that he made his first entrance into the story.  
Hope you enjoyed so far ;) There is much more to come.


	3. Lesson 2: About the Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Usually, Michael does not sleep. It has never really benefit her, but after talking to Hastur she felt as if her energy had been drained in a heartbeat.  
She finds out that this was just too true when her dreams are livelier than she would like to accept...

It was quiet, peaceful even.  
Birds sang in the trees outside, sunlight peaked through the curtains. In the middle of the room, a dainty figure lay underneath its covers. A silhouette as beautiful as lily blossoms, delicate, gleaming.  
Michael lay in a deep, tender sleep, her mind open, her soul freed. She did not know how long it was since she had last fallen into her creator's arms, but it didn't matter. Right here, right now, she was at ease. All her fears, all her sorrows were taken from her. While her body took rest, her soul wandered through the skies, her wings leading her towards the gates, her curls dancing around her shoulders. As her feet touched the clouds, she left her mortal urn behind and regained the appearance, she had once been given.

_______________________________________________________

Freedom... His eyes opened and searched for a familiar sight. Gabriel and Uriel, to his distress, weren't here to welcome him. Not even Sandalphon, the least likeable of all. He searched throughout the heavens, but noone was to be seen. Did they already leave for Armageddon? Why? There was still so much to do...so many to save...So many plans to make, discussions to have...  
Beneath him, he felt the clouds tickling his feet. Sunrise warmed his hands and arms. His mother's presence felt like an embrace, and still - looking around, he knew, he was alone.

Then, he saw him.

He sat by the edge of the clouds. His feet dangling down, his hands softly petting the fluff beneath him. He seemed so quiet, lost in thought. Michael recognised his light-blonde hair, his porcelain skin, the white robes that always seemed to be slightly off-blue, and his voice, as he hummed to himself; a song his humans used to sing. His fingers picked up a strand of cloud and let it dance between his fingers. It swirled around like smoke, snuggled up against his palm and rested, before he blew it away, up into the skies surrounding them. A chuckle escaped him, as his gaze followed his creation, drawing lovely white lines into perfect blue.  
Michael collected himself shortly, breathed in deeply and stepped towards him. Finally, he saw him again. Words could not express how happy he felt to see him. 

"Ezekeel..."  
The figure immediately winced and stopped to move.  
"Please..."  
He dared to come even closer, knelt behind him. As his hand touched Ezekeel's shoulder, he felt as if something was burning him, but he didn't move.  
"Ezekeel, my friend... Please look at me."  
The angel hesitated, Michael could feel it, but he turned around. Immediately, a dagger pierced through his heart. He shook his head. No... this couldn't be real.  
"What have they _done_ to you?"  
"They?"  
Ezekeel looked at him, tears as black as tar, as his veins filled with darkness.  
"It is not them who have done this to me."

Confused, Michael took his hand from him and sat down on his feet.  
"What do you mean?"  
The angel smiled softly, before he pressed his hand into Michael's wound, shoving the dagger deeper. What had been a nagging pain before, slowly tore him apart.  
"It was all you... You, Michael. Don't you see? - You have killed so many of us... You killed your own siblings. Your friends...Me."  
"You know that's not true. I could never. I _would_ never...!"  
He stopped.  


As he touched Ezekeel's chest to pull him closer and tell him that everything was fine, that he never wanted to hurt anyone, that he could never hurt him...  
He noticed blood. Ezekeel smiled at him, as he held his fingers intertwined with his own, while his light-blue robes grew red, drenched with blood. He lay Michael's hand on his chest, turned towards him and lifted his hand to his lips.  
A tender kiss, painting his lips scarlet.  
"You lot think we were the ones who committed a crime. Where were you when we fell, Michael? Haven't you been the worst of all?" 

Pitch-black eyes.  


"No...don't leave me."  
"It's not your choice to make... or is it?"

Ezekeel closed his eyes, stood up, tipped backwards and smiled, as he felt gravity pulling him down.  
"NO!"  
Michael ran after him, reached for his hand, but stopped, when he arrived at the edge, shortly before he'd slide off himself. He watched how his friend vanished in the flames, laughing manically, desperately, before he ended in screams. Ezekeel's voice broke, as hellfire melted him, taking love from anger, kindness from despair. What had once been fascination was now disgust, what once was tender, was now rusty and rough.  
He was gone.

_____________________________________________________

She woke up as a beeping car drove by. As she wiped her face, she noticed something wet. Tears... after all this time?  
With a sigh, she climbed out of bed, adjusted her night gown and looked out the window. It was a nice day out. Once, all the days had been nice.  
It was time to meet Gabriel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone reading up to this point :3
> 
> If you have any suggestions/remarks/ideas, please don't hesitate to contact me <3


	4. Lesson 3: More than meets the Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a restless night, Michael decides to meet up with Gabriel to talk about their preparations. Usually, this is one of the things she likes to do most, but today, she is more than just distracted.

"...and that is why we have to strengthen our front line before we go into battle."  
Gabriel blinked, tilted his head and snapped in front of Michael's face.  
"Michael? Are you still there? Don't discorporate while I'm talking to you, please, it took me a while to get this straight."  
Immediately, she flinched and rubbed her face.  
"I'm sorry...there's been a lot going on lately."  
Confusion and concern lay in his gaze.  
"Is it mother's last order?" he asked her, closing his hands behind his back. "I expected you to change, but I couldn't have guessed how much it would actually affect you."  
She lifted her hand, waving it off, as if it was nothing.  
"Don't worry about me, please. I just need to get used to the circumstances. Life on Earth is... quite different. You're just as well-known among them as I am, you know how they are. Even though I should be used to living with them, there is still so much to learn. It just feels... let's say... Different to live among those that will die in a blink during Armageddon."  


"Hm."  
The Messenger tilted his head from one side to the other, before he shook it.  
"Don't let them get too close to you, Michael. After all, you are one of us and you'll always be just that."  
He smiled at her, giving her a friendly little slap against her shoulder.  
"Come on... We have been through far worse than a few weeks on Mother's Creation. Just think about it: In less than a year, Heaven will be back. Just you and me, Sandalphon, Uriel, Raphael, Metatron, Haniel...all those wonderful people back where they belong. No demons, no humans, no mortal creatures we need to take care of. Just the life we used to know..."  
As much as Michael wanted to agree, her smile stopped in the corners of her mouth. She remained looking quite...grumpy.  
"Oh, Michael, don't tell me, they already got into your head. Don't make me help you out."  
"What do you mean by that?"  


Her tone had changed. She knew what Gabriel was able to do, if he wanted to. Memory alteration, or even deletion, both very powerful; mind control, mood control, perception manipulation... He was incredibly skilled, but usually didn't take any interest in actually harming someone, since it always provided danger to his reputation, and, not to forget, a lot of paperwork. She knew how much he hated the latter, so she hoped he would just let it go.  


"I just mean that you should brighten up a little. In a few months, we will be free from our duties. Heaven will be the place we once knew, Hell will be gone, our sorrows will have been taken from us. - And we will prove, for the last and final time, that we were meant to be the ones remaining. Not Beelzebub, not Crowley, Hastur, Ligur, or Dagon, Mephistopheles or Moloch... Just us."  
She swallowed, drowning in his violet eyes, before she sighed and turned her face away. It took him a moment to process what was going on, but then, Gabriel crossed his arms in front of his chest.  
"You are still thinking about them."  


He lost his smile and, in a moment of rage, firmly grabbed her chin, turning her face towards him. His purple irises darkened as he straightened his back to tower above her. Michael knew that he liked to keep it casual when she obeyed and that he emphasised their height difference whenever he wanted to show his superiority over her and the others.  
"Must I remind you of the reason why they fell?"  
His thumb traced down a line from her lips to her chin.  
"Each and every one of them were drawn towards the seven deadly sins... Lust and gluttony, greed and envy, sloth and wrath, and, last but not least, pride. They disobeyed our mother when she needed them. They succumbed to their deepest flaws and now dwell among those that guarantee them glimpses of satisfaction. The World must die, so all of their sins can be cleansed from Mother's creation. Don't _fall_ for their tricks, Michael. Don't give in to their whispers, their pleas..."  


His amethysts slowly returned to their warm, sparkling self. Gabriel's hand wandered up onto her cheek, softly touching it.  
"You know that I trust you," he whispered and softly leant his forehead against hers. "Don't disappoint me."

Michael remembered being born seconds after Gabriel was created. They had been inseparable ever since; always working together, having fun together, challenging and inspiring each other. As she left their main quarters to take the next bus to the city centre, it was the first time that she left him feeling worse than before she met him. He was a brother, a friend, a soulmate of hers, and still, she never felt more alone with her destiny than on that particular day. Her thoughts circled around one person, and one person only. Since Hastur had _promised_ her to come back, she couldn't think of anything else. Excitement paired with fear - a toxic combination, that kept her on her toes. She knew that once the antichrist would walk their first steps on worldly grounds, everything would fall apart. Not only would Hastur demand his favour to be returned, Michael would also be forced to kill every single one of her contacts, reliving the pain and exhaustion she felt after their first Great War.  


She never truly spoke to her siblings and friends about it, since mentioning their fallen companions alone was reason enough to be punished or warned, but the closer Armageddon came, the more fearful she was. Maybe she would never find peace. Maybe Heaven alone was not the right choice either.   
Nervously, she rubbed her hands and, after finally reaching one of the bus stops in front of Heaven's earthly gate, sat down on one of the benches in a double decker. Sighing, she sank into her seat.

"One of Gabriel's less _uplifting_ speeches, I suppose?"  
Startled, she pressed herself against her seat, slowly sliding up, searching for the voice's owner. Illusionary magic, no doubt.  
"Turn around, duckface."  
With a twist, she knelt on her seat, leaning towards the man sitting behind her that watched her closely, before he looked at her with his pitch-black eyes. It was just a short reveal, intended for Michael only, before they turned back into dark brown irises, framed by pure white scleras.  
"What are you doing here?"  
"Framing a lawyer. You?"  
"You know exactly what I'm doing."  
He smirked, giving a somewhat dirty chuckle, before he let his eyes wander.  
"You know, it's not very lady-like to kneel on a seat, arse up, cleavage exposed to a man in a suit you just met."  


While her cheeks immediately turned bright red, her jaw dropped. With a genuine sound of outrage, she adjusted her blouse and sat down a little less _revealing_.  
"You're unbelievable.'  
"Just giving you a hint." She could tell that he was enjoying this.  
"Some people might think you don't know how to behave. As if you've never learnt what men imagine when you give them _ideas_."  
She turned away from him, hands folded in her lap, her back to her persecutor, when she felt Hastur coming closer... a litte too close. His fingers waited on the back of her seat, just inches away from her shoulder, his face stopped next to hers.  


"If you want to survive on Earth, Michael, you need to be more careful...- You don't deserve any better treatment and still, here I am, tellin ya ta fuckin' pay attention to what's happ'nin in front of ya..." His words were biting, filled with rage. Still, Michael couldn't help but feel that his wrath was not everything.  
"Next time, I see ya messin' up, I won't just warn ya 'bout it." Michael couldn't help but grin at the ambiguity behind his words. Having felt the amusement and fascination he had when she'd turned towards him, she knew that he didn't intend to hurt her. 

She giggled, shortly, but intensely enough to shut him up.  
"What's so funny?"  
Smiling, she moved towards him and looked him deeply in the eyes.  
"Well, I can't really see you make a move on a woman - especially not me."  
She reached out for his face, noticed how he immediately backed away, but managed to touch his jaw, before he could escape.  
Her fingertips softly drew a pattern down his jaw, tender lines and circles that made skin tingle, up to his lip. She noticed sharp teeth forming in his mouth, his eyes turning to their dark truths, before a grip, tight enough to break her hand, clenched around her wrist. A silent scream escaped her mouth, as her muscles spasmed under the force. His breath was hitting her index finger. She could tell that he had a hard time resisting the urge to morph back.  


"N-never...do that again."  


Intimidated, she nodded, bearing the pain, before Hastur finally let go of her.  
He looked distraught, out of place. For the first time, seeing him like this, she felt...pity for him.  
"I'm..."  
Checking if no one was watching, she searched for his gaze. He first didn't want to meet hers, but after a while, close to reaching her destination, he did.  
"I'm sorry."  
He breathed in, shook his head and gestured her to leave it.  
"I mean it, Hastur."  
"...Just fuck off, Michael."

He stood up, climbed down the stairs and got off.  
For a long time, she watched the spot where she last saw him, even when her bus had already driven on.  
Close to her apartment, she decided to step out a little earlier and entered one of London's hundreds of cafés. She didn't know why but... a cup of tea seemed to be just the right thing now.


	5. Lesson 4: Friends on the Other Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After 7 days of silence, Michael decides to meet an old contact of hers.
> 
> The Antichrist is on his way...

She waited at the corner, her back against the wall, while she skipped through the messages on her phone. No news from Gabriel, even though he usually messaged her at least once a day.  
It's been a week already, and Michael couldn't help but wonder what held him back. Something had possibly gone horribly wrong, something with the child. She heard steps coming her way, slightly hesitant, as if someone dragged their feet, before they stopped in front of her. A smug little smirk crossed her face, as she looked down at a to-go cup of Costa coffee in two strong hands.  
"Still the same taste as ever?"  
"Save your teasin', Michael, if I have the choice between coffee and rotten leaves in hot water, I always prefer the former."  
"Right... Well, I am just fascinated that you never changed your go-to drink after you tried it once. I thought, you demons are less...habitual."  


Ligur rolled his eyes and took a sip from his coffee cup. His chameleon sat between his collar and his neck, while he shoved one hand into his pocket, and kept the other one around his cup. To remain unseen, he had taken a slightly altered, less obvious form. In contrast to his best friend's apathy, Ligur quite liked the upper world, as long as he didn't have to live in it full time. Since Michael had been forced to live around here, he came to the surface more often. Not only, because she was his only contact to Heaven that didn't want to kill him without a fair fight, but also because she wasn't so bad after all - an angel that didn't forget what happened after the Fall. 

"So, what are the news on the child?"  
"It's been born a few hours ago."  
Her head immediately turned towards him.  
"A few hours ago?"  
"Yup. Same aura as its dad. Lot of magical properties. Fuckin' Screamer. Our Lord wants to get rid of it as soon as possible. He doesn't show it, but he is even grumpier than usual. Don't even let me get started about Hastur...-"  
"What about him?"  
Ligur stopped and lifted an eyebrow. His magically altered brown eyes watched her closely, a certain orange gleam behind them.  
"When did you start to care what Hastur thinks?"  
She hesitated, tilting her head slightly.  
"We've talked quite a lot the last couple of weeks... He seemed... distracted."  
\- "He didn't say a single thing about that."  
Warily, he watched her closely, before he sighed and took the spot next to her, crossing one arm in front of his chest, leaning against the wall, while sipping from his cup.  


"He has been awkwardly quiet lately. Usually, he loves complaining about work, especially how boring it has become, since humans invented health care systems, but... I believe it makes sense now. He must plan your demise."  
A little laugh escaped her mouth.  
"Oh please, you really think that a tiny fight between us causes him to plan my inevitable doom?"  
The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement.  
"You've really got no idea how he works, do you?"

He emptied his cup, kicked it onto the street and completely turned towards her.  
"Hastur doesn't plan anything. He works the old-fashioned way. As evil and instantaneous as possible. If he didn't try to kill you the moment, he started hating you, then something in our laws is holding him back. He kills what's in his way. Everybody knows that."  
Her smile vanished, while Ligur's widened.  


"Come on, Michael, you're an angel. One of the few I don't want to see burning in an instant. At least not now.  
I know you didn't get your job just by looking pretty. Hastur didn't kill you yet, because he didn't have the chance to do so.  
Just as much as you'd like to see our Lord melt, he wants to see you burn. - And still, here we are, breaking our own rules. Ironic, isn't it?"  


She noticed how happy he seemed about their mutual disobedience. It was slightly unsettling, but at the same time, she knew that it was the only chance she had to keep track of everything. Gabriel must never know about this...at least not, until the Antichrist had come to their power.  
"Hastur and I will hand the Antichrist to its delivery demon once it has been fed. His parents have been chosen, his birthplace has been set, and we know that in 11 years this bloody place of a Creation will vanish and we can finally do what we were made to do."  
She nodded knowingly.  
"Fight against each other until one of us succeeds." "You know, I could see you as one of our slaves. How does daily torture sound to you? Thumb screws? Cigarettes on palms and arm pits?"  


With a shudder, she gestured him to stop.  
"You just want me to dream of those things."  
"I am just trying to prepare you for what's coming. Maybe I can convince Hastur to keep you alive... D'you think his little beasts could eat off your foot everytime it grows back? - I guess he would like that."  
Confused, she shook her head.  
"Where do you get those ideas from?"  
"Mystery and Horror Stories, Nazi shit, and not to forget - Greek mythology."  
He grinned so contently, she couldn't help but shake her head in amused disbelief.  
"You should have a look at it, Michael. Greek Gods are too good to pass up... Search for _Prometheus_ \- he should be interesting for someone like you."

With that, he said goodbye, after telling her that he was supposed to meet Hastur downstairs to deliver the boy.  
A certain demon with honours was supposed to bring the child to Mr and Mrs Dowling, a pair of American diplomats that toured through Tadfield for the time being. Their satanic nuns were already practicing for their big performance and Michael knew how eagerly Ligur waited for putting everything into action.  
He wanted a fight just as much as her, even though she felt a nearly unnoticeable sting in her chest, the more she thought about the end of the world.  
No coffee, no tea, no fresh air, no fall, winter, spring, or summer... just Heaven or Hell. No more, no less.  
The thought of it alone left her quite uneasy. It was not her right to doubt at this point, and not her task to fulfil, either.  
And maybe, if it hadn't been Crowley who was chosen to deliver the Antichrist, their story might have gone completely different...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a lot of fun to get more and more characters into play :P
> 
> Also, Gabriel's week will find mentioning in his POV fanfiction~ Hope you enjoyed.
> 
> And, again: There's so much more to come <3


	6. Lesson 5: The Favour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, that the Antichrist has arrived, it's time to take action. While Uriel prepares Heaven's recruits for Michael's return,  
the archangel finds herself in a rather unpleasant encounter with Hastur...  
Or is it truly unpleasant?

"So, you want me to watch over the frontliners as long as you're here. Am I correct?"  
Michael nodded.  
"I know it's not your favourite task to do, Uriel, but it's the only chance I have to take at least some action before our training starts. I need all of our recruits to be in shape, before we start armoured exercise."  


Scribbling something into her notebook, Uriel sighed and walked towards their whiteboard, rearranging the structure Michael had just finished to draw.  
"Good... so, the east wing every Tuesday, the center Fridays and the west wing on Saturdays?"  
"Yes."  
She joined Uriel at their whiteboard, noting down several codes.  
"You've got round about 350 days, before I will return to Heaven. Believe me, that's enough time to turn them back into their original shape. I don't want to see any wobbly bellies the day I enter our base. So... you know what you have to do."  
Uriel nodded, putting away her notebook, while Michael proceeded to finish her drawing and started tidying up.  


Carefully, she felt Uriel's hand touch her arm, causing her to turn around.  
"Are you alright?"  
Michael hesitated for a moment.  
"Yes, I am."  
"It must be horrific living in a place like this."  
"It is Her creation, Uriel. It can't be horrific. Our Mother's deeds are without comparison, wholesome and perfect. Even if we fail to see its grandeur sometimes."  
Of course, Michael could see a spark of doubt in Uriel's eyes, but it faded the moment she met her gaze.  
"You're right. That was... mindless of me. I'm just worried about you. You've never looked this _tired_ before."  


She adjusted her blouse, tucking it into the brim of her trousers, before closing her blazer.  
"Well... I dream a lot these days, should I dare to sleep. It's a common theme on Earth...Sleep and recovery. Once I spend time with Mother's children, I just... lose myself in their lives. It's exhausting."  
"I see."  
Her friend's golden lips wanted to say something - she could feel a tension arising between the two of them, a tension wanting to be relieved, but Michael didn't say anything.  
"I will be fine. Just do your job and everything will be just as we've planned."  
One kiss onto her left cheek, one onto her right.  
"So long~"  
"Farewell."

This night was calmer than the others. No small talk with strangers, no lost souls, no divine interventions. Not even a demon turning up at someone's house. It was remarkably quiet.  
There was no rain and no storm, even if some thought there would be one, and the weather was wonderfully mild.  
She felt a subtle layer of mist rising from the ground, blurring her vision. It has gotten colder these days, the antichrist was probably sleeping in his mother's arms right now, sleeping like - well - a baby. She wondered if he was as evil as Heaven had always told her he'd be. Just a boy... or was he flawed from the very beginning?  
Wondering, she walked up to her hotel's stairs, jogged up to the seventh floor and opened the door to her apartment.  


The door flew open, and she knew that something was wrong. Incredibly wrong. She smelled him before he could open his mouth.  
"What are you doing here?"  
"Not happy to see me?"  
"Not really, no."  
He smiled, walking towards her.  
"Still so... resistant."  
She avoided his gaze, trying to hold her breath, so she didn't have to gag.  
"Just careful. Gosh, have you never cleaned yourself before?"  
"What do you mean?"  
With a frown, she met Hastur's eyes.  
"You've got to be kidding me."  
He shook his head.  
"Tell me."  


Irritated, she took a step back, wrapping her arms around her chest, before she, judgingly, watched him up and down.  
"I can smell you from miles away. Your hair is a complete mess and don't even try to stop me from complaining about the dirt stains on my carpet!"  
"I've been carrying out my master's tasks."  
"So, being Satan's lackey means that you have to smell as if you've been rotting from the inside?"  
"How dare you -"  
A sneering little laugh escaped her.  
"Naaaw...don't tell me you're sensitive."  
"It took me a long time to find a form that suits me."  
"Well, as everyone can see, this is less than appropriate for human housing."  
She stopped, thinking, before golden lines formed on her hand. Lifting it, she held it between the two of them, pressing the tips of her thumb and her index finger together.  
"Let me fix this."

_SNAP!_

A miracle.  
Hastur's confused gaze was all she needed to burst into hysterical laughter.  
"Oh my, this is perfect!"  
"What have you done?!"  
Mint scent. He looked down, fearing the worst, as he noticed how soft his button down's fabric felt on his skin. It smoothly rested on his arms, while he noticed a too familiar light-blue shimmer on his coat.  
"WHAT DID YOU DO?!"  
He shrieked, stumbled backwards. His hands wandered upwards to his head, frantically searching for his toad.  
"Where is he?! What have you done to Fog?!"  
With a diabolical grin, she strode towards him, her arms crossed behind her back.  
"I miracled him away... and look how fashionable you are now."  
Shaking, he lowered his gaze, as Michael lay her hands on his upper arms and turned him to the side. Facing her armoire's mirror, he saw himself in all his glory. 

"AAAAH!"

It was merely a shriek. In shock, he touched his baby-smooth cheeks, his fluffy white-blonde hair, his silky sleeves.  
"I am a monster." She could tell that he was genuinely disgusted. "How could you do this to me?!"  
"Oh, you look so much better now, dear."  
"You wank-winged bitch!"  
Before she could react, she felt his flames bite into her skin.  
Screaming, she clawed into his hands, trying to stop him, as he shoved her backwards and hit her head against the wall. She felt dizzy, the back of her head burning from the impact, as he grabbed her by the throat, one hand burning hers, the other one clasping more and more tightly.  
"You'll regret this soon enough... It took me decades to get my appearance right...A century to find Fog. Who do you think you are?"  
"I'm Archangel Michael, Honey."  
Her voice was thin, but her smile was filled with pride.  
"I can do whatever I - ah" He grabbed her throat even tighter, while his fire drew lines across her skin.  
"...want."  


In a blink, her blue eyes started shining from inside. Hastur's flames extinguished and drowned in Michael's skin. Her slender fingers wrapped around his, as she pulled him closer, looking deeply into his eyes.  
This time, she was the one to lose herself, but she didn't mind.  
"How did you do that?" he whispered. No one had ever dared to stop his flames. That Michael had managed to let them disappear was a miracle all by itself.  
"Oh..."  
She smiled softly, as her left hand grabbed the one around her throat.  
"I remembered something..."  
Pulling his hand away, she noticed how much effort it took him to escape her gaze - he was lost inside of hers.  
"We have known each other for such a long, long time. It's time for you to realise that we are not so different after all, Hastur."  


"You are insane. You know as well as I do that we are not supposed to be alike."  
"And still, you look and smell like someone acceptable."  
He shook his head.  
"I wasn't meant to appear like this."  
"And who told you that? Lucifer?"  
"Don't you dare call him that."  
She lifted her hand, ignoring the burning sensation on her skin, as she softly touched his cheek.  
"Once, you were one of us, and you fell for your stupidity. But deep down inside, you know, you miss me and Heaven just as much as every other demon.  
In the end... you wouldn't even dare to kill me. You are a pretentious liar."  
"Shut up."

Enraged, he tightened his grip around her throat again, pressing closer, tighter, harder, as Michael slowly lost control. Her blue eyes widened, reddened, blurred, but she didn't say a thing. Instead, her fingernails dug into his hands, pulling, scratching him, but he pressed harder, locking her body between the wall and himself, as she slowly sank into his arms. It was dark, too dark around her. He let go and adjusted his coat.  
Panting heavily, her throat throbbing in pain, she sank down. Dark shadows built on her skin, marking the spot he'd attacked. As much as she tried to hold herself up, her knees failed to lift her up - but she didn't fall. A strong hand lifted her up by the back of her shoulders.  
Hastur came closer, his lips only inches away from her ear.  
"I do whatever is right in my master's eyes," he whispered, pressing her body close to him. She couldn't move.  
"I am here to ask for my favour. And I won't leave until I get what I want."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I get to continue my story xD
> 
> I already have drafts for further chapters finished, but it will take some time to get to them.  
So excited to be back, and thanks to everyone reading so far. It makes me truly happy <3


	7. Lesson 6: Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hastur finally admits why he needs Michael's help...Will she accept? And why can't he do it by himself?

Her eyes were drifting away from him. Noticing it, Hastur grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.  
"Don't you dare discorporate right now, Michael. You got what you deserve...at least for now. I need you to focus."  
She really tried, but her knees were soft. Her throat felt sore when she tried to speak. She could tell that Hastur grew impatient with her, but instead of simply pushing her down, he lifted her up even more, wrapping his arm around her waist. His thumb softly pressed against her chin, touching her lower lip.  


"There is someone..." He stopped. As much as he tried to avoid her looking at him, she noticed an unfamiliar mist in his eyes. Were those...clouds?  
"I need you to find him before Armageddon starts."  
With a nod, she loosened her grip around his fingers and grabbed his collar instead. His black blood left a burning sensation on her skin, but she didn't mind. Her whole body hurt, she didn't care anymore.  
"It's a... boy, really. I know his ancestry, at least the last few generations. They were... praying to your kind."

Carefully, she stretched her legs, pressing herself up. She felt her purpose bringing her back to her feet, but she didn't move an inch away from him. It was weird to be held by one of her biggest enemies, but also confusingly..._pleasant_.  
"What do you mean?"  
With a sigh, he looked to the side, trying to find the right words. As she knew, talking had never been his strong suit. Indecisive sounds escaped his throat, before he finally found the courage to speak his mind.  
"They're believers," he muttered. "Angel enthusiasts. It's just..."  
He stopped again, his black eyes growing greyer and greyer, the longer he spoke. A white shroud misted them, something that Michael had never seen in them before. It felt as if they resembled the sky outside. Rain clouds lurked behind her window cells; rain drops drumming against the glass.  
"I don't sleep often, but when I do, I hear them."  


Immediately, his hand pressed against her chest. "Don't tell anyone."  
Blinking, she looked down to her hand, then back at him.  
"I won't."  
He narrowed his eyes.  
"Swear on your life."  
She shook her head in disbelief.  
"I wouldn't lie to you. I'm an angel."  
He grunted and shook his head.  
"That makes it worse. - I'm gonna kill you if you tell anyone. Understood?"  
With a sigh, she lay her hand onto the one laying on her chest.  
"I swear on my life that I won't tell anyone. Your dreams are your thing. Just tell me what I need to know, so we can get this over with."

She knew that he wouldn't trust her, but he didn't seem to reject her. Instead, he looked at their hands on her chest, doubting his decision, before he finally started talking.  
"His name is Alistair, Alistair Barmish. 21, lives somewhere downtown. Find out about his family's background, how they started off. Find out if they've ever done something wrong and let me know how I can ruin them. - I know that his ancestors came to your place... I can't punish them the way they deserve it." She felt his hand tremble.  
"You see them every night in your dreams?"  
Gently, she pressed down onto his hand. He squirmed, but she didn't move.  
"Every time."  
Hesitating, she took his hand into hers, without moving them an inch away from her chest, close to her collarbone. She knew that he'd be able to feel her pulse through her blouse; something that demons, as far as she could tell, nearly lost. Their bodies felt colder and quite lifeless in comparison to an angel's.  
"I will do whatever's in my power to grant your wish. But after I returned the favour, we will never speak of this again."  
"Obviously."  


He straightened his back, looking down.  
"And don't tell them who sent you."  
She lifted an eyebrow.  
"Why?"  
Pitch black returned, as he removed his arm around her waist and lay his hand flat onto the spot between her collarbones.  
"I want to see the horror in their eyes when they realise it was me all along. I want to see them snuff it in pain and agony, wanna see them suffer for a lifetime of nightmares. - And when my maggots eat them alive - don't get in my way."


	8. Lesson 7: An Unlikely Accomplice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael contacts the only person on the planet who knows everything about it.  
With his help, she finally finds traces to Alistair Barmish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, and this time with another character getting into action.  
Bringing Aziraphale into the story was so much fun. I just love him so much and I couldn't help but smile imagining him. I hope you enjoy!

This was probably the stupidest idea she ever had.  
A. Z. Fell’s bookshop’s front windows shimmered right before her eyes. She looked inside, skipping through the book titles in front of her. None of them seemed familiar, but she did not take the time to come here, so she could read. Information was what she needed. Lots of it. 

The only person she knew that was well acquainted with masses of humans was no one else but Principality Aziraphale, the former guardian of the Eastern Gate, and current protector of the Ineffable Plan on Earth. He’d lived among humans as one of the few who were destined to take care of them, and never once asked to come back. Michael never really understood what he liked about this place, but now that she knew what it was like to live on Earth, she felt slightly closer to him. Something that she, admittedly, never thought would happen. She took a deep breath, opened the door and heard gentle jingling above her head. Wind chimes. Little wings of golden glass hitting against each other, as she closed the door behind her. Wonderful…

With a smile, she made her way through the shop. The air was dusty and warm. It didn’t take her long until she wanted to take her coat off, but she resisted. At first, that is. Aziraphale’s customers seemed lost in their activities… Tracing book backs with their fingertips, skipping through old magazines, taking in the familiar smell of precious ancient books, watching old paintings unravel their lovely images behind velvet curtains. She swore she had seen those decorations a century ago; they didn’t age a bit. No wonder, Gabriel complained so often about the angel’s use of miracles. Aziraphale mostly kept his books alive, but they all knew that he did his best in serving their Mother’s creation as well.  
At least in theory. An all too familiar head with golden curls appeared in the hallway at the end of the shop’s west wing. Aziraphale wore his usual brown vest, light-blue button downs, his beloved tartan fly, brown trousers and polished leather shoes that were not as extravagant as Michael’s, but still angelic enough. As he recognised the person standing in front of him, he pulled his pair of glasses off his face, folded it and shoved it into his chest pocket. 

“M-Michael.” She could tell he was nervous. “What a pleasure to have you here. What… can I do for you?”  
She simply lifted a hand, gestured him to stop talking.  
“I’m not here for a friendly little chat, if you thought so. I have an urgent matter to take care of, and I need your help.”  
The tip of his nose crinkled, before he turned to the side, his eyes wandering over the floor. His hands folded in front of his belly that he desperately tried to cover with his vest, before he nodded to the back of the shop.  
“Follow me.”  
Without hesitation, she agreed and walked through the corridor, following him to his private corner. Aziraphale closed the curtains behind them, gesturing her to sit down. She hesitated, until he walked over to the other side. He sat down first, a questioning look across his face, before she sat down herself, lay one leg over the other and folded her hands on her knees.  
“How have you been, Aziraphale?”  
“G-good.” He tried to smile. “Very good, actually. I had a marvellous time in Venice last month.”  
She tilted her head.  
“A place in Italy… remember? South of Europe, home of the Pope, Seat of Catholicism…”  
She shuddered.  
“Ugh, I remember.”  
He gave her a mild little smile that reminded her a little too much of pity, before he cleared his throat and looked around him.  


“Can I offer you…a drink, maybe?”  
First, she narrowed her eyes, turning up her nose at him, but then –  
“What kind of drink?”  
“Tea…perhaps?”  
Turning her face away for a moment, she breathed in deeply, before she nodded.  
“Okay. A cup of tea would be… nice.”  
Watching the angel like a hawk, she straightened her back, as Aziraphale prepared the tea. In less than a minute, he'd heated water for them and poured her a cup of freshly brewed Earl Grey with a dash of milk and sprinkles of sugar.  
With a smile, he handed her cup over. Taking it into her hands, she lifted it to her face, taking in the gentle smell of sweet bergamot and elegantly bitter black tea. Softly, she took her first sip, her eyes wandering up into Aziraphale’s face. He seemed completely amazed.  
“Didn’t expect me to take it, hm?”  
He shook his head, a hint of red on his cheeks.  
“Not at all, if I’m completely honest.”  
He seemed uneasy, his nervosity as obvious as his odd taste.

She chuckled. “Gabriel’s being hard on you, isn’t he?”  
He didn’t reply, but his facial expression was enough to give her confirmation.  
“Impressive… He didn’t even touch you.”Attentively, she took another sip, watching him closely.   
“But I understand. He can be quite frightening if he wants to.”  
Softly, she sat her cup onto the table and took another deep breath. This was far more nerve-wrecking than she'd planned it to be.  
“Let’s talk about something…more pleasant, shall we?”  
Confused, Aziraphale met her gaze.  
“I’m not here to check on you, Aziraphale. Even though I had more than enough reason to.”  
She put her foot down, leant forward.  
“As I said, I need your help. There is someone I need to find." Aziraphale started moving in his chair.  
"Someone, I need to locate before Armageddon.” 

Something was wrong. Aziraphale tried to escape her gaze. It was too obvious to ignore.  
Blinking, she stood up from her chair, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him up to her chest.  
“What are you hiding?”  
“N-nothing! I swear!”  
_That smell. _ Her eyes started glowing, but she didn’t move.  
“Who?!”  
“No one. Please, Michael. I promise, it’s nothing.”  
“You smell like a demon. How close have you been to him? What did you do?”  
“Nothing.”  
Aziraphale lifted his hand, softly touching her fingers with his.  
“Please…it’s alright. I’m alright. Nothing happened.”

She blinked, several times, before the light in her irises vanished. Lost in thought, she looked down at the tartan fabric crunched between her fingers, as she let out a sigh, let go off him and sat back in her chair. With tender fingers, she adjusted a curl that had dared to fall onto her face and slowly sank back into her seat.  
“Whoever bothered you, I will…take care of them.”  
Aziraphale shook his head, smiling awkwardly.  
“I’m fine, Michael, really. I just…had an encounter with Cr- a demon. He didn’t hurt me, well, he couldn’t, I-I mean, and… Of course, I was thwarting him. You should have seen me..-.”  
A soft giggle stopped him.  
“Hm? What is it?”  
Smirking, she adjusted the bow around her neck.  
“I just can’t see you threaten a demon, that’s all.”  
The shop owner blushed and kneaded his hands in his lap. Even though he was far from being an angel she could work with during the war, she couldn’t deny that he had kept a certain innocence inside of him that so many of their kind had lost. If she didn’t know better, she would have said she had a _soft spot_ for him. Folding her hands in her lap, she gave him a wide smile.  
“Let’s talk business, shall we?”

It took her two hours to explain to him what exactly she needed and why. Hastur’s explanations had been helpful, but not particularly detailed, and telling Aziraphale why she needed to find Alistair Barmish hadn’t been an easy task. In the end, she told him a lie – that she needed to locate him, since he was one of the few ancestors left that were saving angelic artefacts for better times - and hoped it would come true. She claimed that Heaven needed them for hard times during the second Great War; that they'd be able to collect worldly energy with them and feed on them in times of need and desperation.  
She finished her cup of tea, thanked him calmly and honestly for his service, wished him a good day and left the shop. 

Alistair Barmish worked as an assistant in a museum. He lived not too far from the city centre, in a small apartment on the second floor. His mother called him regularly, his father was an industrial worker, and rarely came home before late noon. Right now, Alistair sat on his sofa, watching tv. Michael knew she would be just in time for his supper when she climbed up the stairs and rang the door bell.


	9. Lesson 8: In Sheep's Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael discovers the truth about Alistair Barmish... (Pt 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Guys,  
I'm finally back! Christmas and the exam phase kept me way too busy, but I'm slowly getting back on track. Enjoy Michael's comeback and have a wonderful time.  
All the best xx

When Michael reached the top of the stairs, her appearance had changed. Her body had lost its mature looks, in favour of a youthful face and leaner legs and arms. Her figure presented itself as even more delicate, adorned by a long purple coat, a light-purple silk blouse, a flowing white skirt and white pumps whose straps closely wrapped around her ankles. While she pulled her handbag closer to her side, she took a deep breath in and lay her carefully manicured hand on the doorbell. Her fingertip pressed down gently, as she waited for her target to open the door. 

It took a few moments, in which she ruminated about what to say, as she heard someone open the lock and peek out.  
“Oh… Good evening. What can I do for you?”  
Surprised, Michael looked up, directly into a pair of remarkably blue eyes. What a rather peculiar shade…  
“Ehm…Excuse me?”  
Startled, Michael took a step back, giving a rather bashful smile.  
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, it’s just…” She nestled with the straps of her bag, searching for the right words on the wall, before she faced him again.  
“I moved in downstairs… and I wanted to get to know you, I mean…my new neighbours.”  
Alistair smiled charmingly, wiping a streak of copper out of his face.  
“Well… maybe we should start with a name?”  
Michael mimed the shy girl, biting her lip, looking to the side.  
“Maybe…” She grinned, before she looked into his eyes, drawing him in.  
“My name is Angela, Angela Michael. I just started studying here, history and theology, and-uhm… I thought I’d come upstairs, say hi and… invite you to a snack in town?”

He smiled widely, replying with a chuckle, before he left the door, turned off the tv and took his coat. While he slipped into his sleeves, he locked eyes with her, speaking.  
“Alistair Barmish. I’ve been a history major as well, loved that part. You don’t plan on doing ancient history as well, do you? Most of the people I knew stuck with the last two centuries.”  
“No, I love ancient history, actually. Ancient and medieval times are my favourites.”  
With shimmering eyes, he followed her downstairs, passing by the door to the place he assumed her to live in, and, like a true gentleman, opened the door for her, so she could exit first.  
“So, how come that you fell in love with these two?” he asked her, while they started walking towards the city centre.  
“Well,” she started strolling ahead, “I was always fascinated by the foundation of our society and language. The first rules, the structures, the religious backgrounds – they are the base of everything we know nowadays. Also, many things we knew back then were wise enough to still be relevant today, and others, instead, have been changed, although they were worthy to be expanded and taken into our modern days. I believe we give our past way too little credit.”

Alistair nodded, shoved his hands into his pockets and led her deeper into the city, walking towards a bar called ‘The Shed’. He seemed to know this route by heart. Michael was sure it was one of his favourite spots to spend time in.  
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I wish I had been so passionate about something comprehensive like that,” he replied chuckling, greeting the security guard in front and opening the door for them. As Michael slipped in, the smell of savoury foods and alcohol rose into her nose.  
This would be a hard time to live through…  
“Have you ever been to this place?” he asked her, smiling as always. “It’s been one of my favourites when I started uni. Most of my colleagues came here every night, having a chat, a beer and, most of the time, a burger. When I came home today, I planned on making myself some pasta, but since you’re here, we should take the opportunity to have something good.”  
“And as I said, you are invited,” she insisted with a grin. “Where are we going to sit?”

He pointed at a corner in the back, dimly lit, surrounded by metal plates with vintage designs. “Over there. It’s one of the comfiest spots, and the waitresses here know me. They’ll see us there way earlier than anywhere else.”  
“Okay…”  
She followed him nervously, stroke a curl out of her face and sat down, leaving him enough space to occupy the seat next to her. To her luck, the bench had an edge which allowed her to look at his face while they talked.  
“So, Angela… apart from your studies and your passion for history… What else is there I should know about you? Any hobbies? Interests? Big muscular boyfriends I should know about?”  
Surprised, she looked into his eyes, noticing the glimmer that hadn’t been there before. He was obviously interested in her, coming a little bit closer.  
“No boyfriend, I guess,” she mumbled, shifting around in her seat.  
“I haven’t been that lucky, but ehm…” She looked over her shoulder, towards the door.  
“I’m not very good at relationships. I had some rather… difficult experiences, you know?”  
He followed her gaze to the door, understood and sank back into his chair. From his expression, Michael judged that he wasn’t happy, yet not appalled. He still liked her, she could feel it in his softly glowing aura.  
“Well, you don’t need to worry about me. I just wanted to make sure that I don’t get to close to a girl that’s already taken. I’ve had some very awkward encounters over the years.” 

She noticed his dejection, as she looked back at him, and softly lay his hand onto his upper arm. “Please, don’t mind me. I’m a little careful when it comes to strangers, but if I hadn’t planned to meet you in the first place, I wouldn’t have come to see you today. Let’s just get to know each other, figure out what we like and start off as friends? We’ll see what happens.”

Coyly, he nodded, touched her hand on his arm and cleared his throat.  
“Okay… then…let’s come back to my other questions. What do you do in your free time?”  
Putting her hand down, she thought for a moment, before she replied  
“I like to go to museums, especially art ones, and I like to spend my time meeting friends, trying out new cafés, travelling,and… of course, I enjoy different kinds of sports. At the moment, I’m mostly going out for a walk or practice fencing.”  
Impressed, he nodded and sat back, seemingly imagining her doing what she just said.  
“Fencing,” he repeated, breathing in, “You must be quite determined to follow a sport as specific as that one. How long have you been doing it?”  
“I’d like to say all my life,” she replied with a grin. “It comes naturally to me, as if it’s a part of me. I couldn’t imagine a life without my sword.”  
“I can see why.” He squinted his eyes, as if he was able to discover what lay behind her clear blue eyes, but she knew that all he would find was honesty.  
“You’ve got something different about you,” he finally said, tilting his head. “And don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean it like ‘you’re not like other girls’ – you’re actually different. I don’t know yet if it’s due to your love for weapons or due to the way you connect to the past. Anyway, I’m intrigued what else you’ll tell me.”  
A mischievous spark enlightened her eyes.  
“As long as I’m not the only one to talk…”

Many hours passed and The Shed got emptier and emptier.  
Alistair and Michael had spent their time talking about everything that they knew, laughing and joking together, flirting once in a while, but all in all having an amazing night.  
The angel had tried her first alcoholic drink – a cocktail with the fitting name of Satin Angel – and felt remarkably at ease talking to her friend about her experiences with the French and that it was a shame that carriages had been replaced by these awful metallic constructions they called cars, polluting the air and making every second human furious for at least an hour a day.  
Alistair, who had been sceptical at first, found himself mesmerised by the outlandish way she behaved, claiming that she knew personal details about Joan of Arc and that she could feel the differences between a blessed weapon and one that had been crafted by a money-grubbing blacksmith. She felt so strange to him, so endearing, that he finally stood up – shortly before The Shed was about to close – and offered his hand to help her up from the bench.  
“May I show you something, before we head home?” 

She giggled as she took his hand and gave him a sly little grin.  
“Of course! What do you have in mind?”  
Leading her towards the exit, after she had pressed a way too big bill into the waitress’s hand, he stopped her on the pathway, looking directly into her eyes.  
“I want to show you something, but you’ve got to promise me that you’ll keep it to yourself, okay?”  
Shaking her head laughing, she slapped him against his arm, lifting an eyebrow.  
“I thought you wouldn’t make any advances on me tonight.”  
“I wasn’t…” He sighed, looked to the side and softly lay his hands onto his shoulders.  
“It’s something quite personal…but I won’t do anything. I promise.”  
Understanding that he actually meant what he said, she calmed down and nodded.  
“Okay. Go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”

It took them half an hour to reach their home, tumbling upstairs. He unlocked his apartment door, helped her out of her coat, hung up his own and led her into the living room that was still in the state of his afternoon nap. The air was thick and dusty. Underlying it all, there was the faint scent of frankincense and rosemary, coming from a suspicious looking cupboard decorated with golden inscriptions.  
It immediately caught her eye. Feeling sober in a blink, Michael stepped forward, carefully investigating this new object in front of her.  
Alistair opened it, sank his hands into layers of velvet and lifted a small bronze plate out of it. Carrying it as carefully as if he held a new-born, he handed it over to her, watching closely, as her jaw dropped. She had already stopped breathing as he swallowed hard, biting his lower lip as he felt her change.  
“My family had always been desperate to connect the dots,” he whispered as he lay his hand around hers. “From early on, they were searching for this man. An angel, like my mom used to say. He saved our ancestors from starvation and illness, and our family claimed that he returned, every century or so, in different form… It might be just a myth… a lovely memory. But…I thought…”

He looked at her, raising her chin with his hand to pull her eyes away from his treasure.  
“Maybe you know who he is.”  
With trembling lips, she lost herself in his eyes, before she pulled away, tracing the angel’s silhouette in grace. 

“Yes, I know who he is,” she replied, as her fingertip touched the clouds above his bronze head.  
“Do you know his name?”

“Yes.” She paused, as sorrow drew lines across her face.  
“His name is Ezekeel.”


	10. Lesson 9: Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael finds out about Alistair Barmish Pt 2

“Ezekeel…”  
Alistair pulled away, opened his laptop and started typing. Michael didn’t really know what was going on, but she noticed how his expression changed in an instant. His tranquility was gone, as he looked up to her.  
“According to the information on here, he was the angel of weather… Fallen from Heaven because he'd seduced a human woman on earthly grounds. He was their protector and chose to live with only one.”

Michael’s mask grew weaker, as she turned away from him. Panic spread inside her chest, as it felt harder and harder to breathe. Her face aged, as she lifted the bronze plate to her eyes, tracing the angel’s features. It all came back to her.  
Her dreams, her memories, his voice…  
She held her breath. His voice! She knew it, she remembered it, she connected it to the people in her life, going back and forth, skimming through her memories of former centuries.  
Images of past lives flooded her mind, engulfing her in feelings of power and resentment, of love and companionship, of sadness and sorrow… Of a broken heart.

“Angela?”

With a gasp of relief, she turned around, her face slowly returning to the image Alistair knew. 

“Is everything alright?”

She nodded immediately, coming back to his side, as she looked over his shoulder, reading the articles he’d just found. Their pictures didn’t do _him_ any justice, but she smiled anyways, smirking at the efforts of his followers to keep his memory alive.  
“Why do you think my family would worship a demon? It’s crazy. We’ve all been quite…well…religious. But not towards Satan or anything,” he claimed, shaking his head. “It feels so…weird.”  
“Don’t worry about it.”  
Surprised, Alistair lifted his head, staring at her. “What?”  
“They did not worship his demonic side… They worshipped his angelic traits. His belief in humanity. All those aspects of his personality that made him exceptional in a realm in which everyone is believed to be equal, even though nobody truly is.”  
“You mean… they worshipped him because he had… chosen to leave heaven?”__

_ _Pain glistened in her eyes, yet she felt pride, as she responded to him.  
“He never chose to leave Heaven. You’d never do that if you had the choice. Someone told on him. But… He loved humanity. He loved his life, his friends, his siblings. He loved his task. It was our rules that made him fall. Our law that made him burn in Hell… as they all did.”_ _

_ _“_Our_ rules?” ___ _

_ _ _ _Pressing her lips together, she avoided his gaze.  
“Angela… you do not believe you’re an actual angel, are you?”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _She could feel his eyes on her, as her mask started to shatter. Lines returned to her face, her hair became wilder, as it weaved itself around her body. Her oceans shone from within, golden lines broke her skin. It took a lot of strength to hold her wings back, but it didn’t need more to convince him. He immediately rolled back with his office chair.  
“Fuck! Holy sh-“  
“Dear, there’s really no use for that kind of language.”  
He fell out of his chair and onto his knees, bowing his head before her.  
“Fuck…please tell me, you didn’t come to get me.” _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _With a soft chuckle, she shook her head and leaned forward.  
“Do you really think, an archangel would come for a visit just to scold you?”  
Stretching out her hand, she felt light wandering through her veins. Alistair stood back up, light wrapping around him like pixie dust.  
“Did they send you? Do I have to do anything? Why the hell are you here this time? Why not him? Why not Ezekeel?”  
“Because he’s no longer one of those who care about Earth, my dear. Ezekeel has fallen a long time ago. I don’t know how he managed to come back, but I sure know that his time saving humanity is over. And I’m afraid mine will be over as well.”  
Gulping, Alistair ruffled his hair, shaking his head. “What does that mean? You are…what Archangel?”  
“Well, I told you my name...”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _“Michael. You’re motherfucking Michael.”  
“Language, Alistair.”  
She could tell, he was about to faint.  
“Keep it together, dear. I’d like to keep my miracles to a minimum.”  
“Archangel Michael…” He rushed his hand over his face. “Nobody will ever believe me!”  
She laughed and shook her head.  
“They don’t have to. You won’t know any of this later on.”  
“What?! No!” _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _He grappled her hand, pulling it towards him.  
“Please, I’ll do anything, just…don’t take this away from me. Don’t make me forget this! I swear, I won’t tell anyone. I won’t reveal your identity, and I won’t use it to my advantage. The only thing I wish for is to know more about you and your kind.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Honesty. A rare feat among those that called themselves mortals. She felt it pulsating deep within his heart._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _With a sigh, she looked at their hands. Reminded of the demon who gave her the orders to find this boy, she laughed to herself and squeezed his palm, shaking her head.  
“Fine… This secret is ours. From now on till the end of time.” Her warmth covered his soul in violet light. ”Understood?”  
He nodded, smiling like anything. Overwhelmed by his happiness, he reached out and wrapped his arms around her.  
“Thank you, Michael. Thank you so much.”  
“Eh-“  
Confused, she twitched in his embrace, before she carefully lay his hands on his waist.  
“You’re… welcome, I guess.”_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _

__ __ __ Outside, the sky had turned to grey.  
Clouds hung low above the town; raindrops pattered onto the streets. People rushed by, running through the shower. Thunder rolled through the sky, lightning bolts waiting to roast their first victim. A silhouette formed at the end of the road lurking in the shadows. His pitch-black mirrors blurred by silvery mist.  
He felt flames dancing around his arms and legs, as his steps melted the concrete underneath his feet. His eyes were bound to the glowing light upstairs, the violet shimmer in her arms. 

_ _ _ _“It’s time… I knew I couldn’t trust you…_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Duckface.”_ _ _ _


End file.
